


In The Chelsea Hotel

by thenewestattraction (richeyinbloom)



Series: Tales Of Brendon, Ryan, And The Hotel Chelsea [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: 60s AU, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Inspired by Real Events, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10236962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richeyinbloom/pseuds/thenewestattraction
Summary: Sometime in the mid to late sixties, Ryan Ross lived in the Hotel Chelsea. There, he would often end up riding the elevator in the middle of the night, with no real destination. It helped him sleep in a way, and it helped him feel.It was there when he met another young man, who enjoyed riding the elevator as much as Ryan did. That was Brendon Urie. What followed was late nights together and everything they could of dreamed about. That was called love for those in New York at the time, the workers of song. It might still be for those of them left.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing to do with THROAM. Just same ship and hotel.
> 
> Based off of the story of Janis Joplin and Leonard Cohen, nothing but respect to the both of them and may they both rest in peace.

 

It Ryan was riding the elevator late at night again.

 

He was unable to sleep, and even if the Chelsea was a rather comfortable place to stay, his room was rather nice too, he couldn't help but stay awake. Why sleep when there's so much going on in New York right now? Why sleep when there were people changing the world, why sleep when you could be awake.

 

He rode the elevator every night, with really no destination. There never was a destination in these situations. There never had to be. It was early morning, about four, and no one else was there. No one ever was. No one was ever in here with him until the afternoon came, and he was okay with that. He didn’t need company.

 

The buttons on the elevator continued to be the only technology he ever really mastered, and that was okay.

 

Eventually, he does go back to his room. Thinking about life tomorrow. Thinking about life in general, when the day would come that he couldn’t ride the elevator to escape everything that kept him awake at night, everything that he knew shouldn’t matter but it always did. Everything that wasn’t supposed to matter did.

 

Ryan Ross was a folk singer of sorts, with plans to stick around. He was famous, slightly. As famous as you could be in the 60s. There was all type of music taking over now, last decade made them realise it was possible, now they realised they could do what they wanted. All the possibilities, now that the “going to hell” threats were mainly done for.

 

But one night, Ryan wasn’t alone in the elevator. Somebody else had joined him, maybe not intentionally, but he was there. The man stood there, looking as if he had all the time in the world to just ride the elevator. And maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t have anywhere to be, and just joined me, not intended to say anything. We didn’t say anything.

 

He started to notice the man early in the morning and late in the evening, riding the elevator with Ryan. He recognised the man as Brendon Urie, also famous. Famous enough, anyway. He looked as if he rode the elevator with such delight, Ryan related to it in a way, how happy he seemed in this simple trip down the hotel floors.

 

Ryan knew what Brendon was like, stage personality wise. He commanded huge audiences, he needed attention, he wanted all eyes on him. He was talented. Yet, here, it seemed like riding this elevator was the only thing Brendon Urie truly ever knew how to do.

 

They eventually spoke. He mentioned he was looking for Kris Kristofferson, and Ryan was looking for Brigitte Bardot. Yet they met each other in the elevator.

 

“You’re in luck, I’m Kris Kristofferson.” Ryan had joked at the time, smiling slightly, and Brendon had laughed.

  
“What a coincidence, I’m Brigitte Bardot.” His voice was nice, even when he wasn’t singing, Ryan liked his voice. And he and Brendon spoke, for hours.

 

Brendon often ended up in Ryan’s hotel room, neither of them needed to sleep, and neither of them wanted anything more than some company to have a nice conversation with, some company for an, otherwise, dull evening. It was nice, they liked each other, and had things in common, which worked.

 

It was kind of a surprise when they drunkenly started to kiss one night, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe they really wanted to. They didn’t stop, because it felt good and they were slightly attracted to each other. Maybe not slightly. Maybe a lot.

 

People weren’t opening up to this idea, they were just warming up to the idea of casual sex, but being with someone of the same gender, especially if you were a man, wasn’t something a lot of people were willing to accept at all. Ryan had always felt sexual attraction towards other men, and he just ignored it, for the most part.

 

It was Brendon who kissed him first, leaning forward and pushing Ryan back so they could kiss. Ryan was surprised, but he kissed back, it wasn’t just the alcohol, really. It was everything about Brendon, his pretty face, his full lips, the way he made Ryan smile, the way he made Ryan feel less like one of a kind.

 

Brendon demanded great crowds, maybe, but here he only needed Ryan’s approval. Here he only needed Ryan to see him, and Ryan was perfectly okay with that. He knew Brendon wasn’t immune to rumours of his sexuality, rumoured affairs with many gorgeous celebrities, he was pretty close with Jimi Hendrix as well, he didn’t know if that was a rumour yet.

 

He knew that he wasn’t the only one to see Brendon in this state, he didn’t know if it mattered, he knew though that now, in this moment, Brendon was here for him. In Ryan’s hotel room. Only for him.

 

It was one night as they lay together, Ryan was playing with strands of Brendon’s hair as he frowned at the ceiling, “I don’t understand the need to be pretty if you want to be famous.” He was talking to Ryan, even if his eyes were at the sky. “Music is about sound. Not pretty looking people.”

 

He wasn’t the first to have these thoughts, that was obvious, he just spoke about it with a passion Ryan understood was genuine. Not just some post-orgasmic thought than never really affected him. He thought Brendon was attractive, surely he wasn’t the first. He sincerely doubted he was the first.

 

Ryan just shrugged in reply, “Because people want someone pretty to write songs about them.” And Brendon shook his head again, turning to Ryan.

 

“You're really not my type, Ryan Ross.” He said simply, before kissing Ryan, arms draping over him, “I usually prefer men that are more…” He paused for a moment, “Just unlike you. But I think,” He glanced down at Ryan’s lips, “For you, I can make an exception.” Then he kissed him again.

 

It was nights like these that Ryan felt special. He didn't know if Brendon's words were true but he had a feeling they were. Maybe it wasn't anything, maybe they were false, but that didn't matter, in Ryan's head. All that mattered was Brendon's lips against his own.

 

It was on another night that Brendon was frustrated again, cursing about how no one deserved to be oppressed by figures of beauty, no one deserved to be cast aside for their appearance. Ryan just listened, knowing it wouldn't do him any good to speak on the matter, Brendon was speaking for the both of them.

 

Brendon had sighed, kissed Ryan then fixed himself, like he always did. Ryan knew nothing good would cohim of that, but he knew it helped Brendon's mind, in a small way. Some would argue he didn't need fixing, Brendon knew he did, so many thoughts to fix.

 

He leaned against Ryan afterwards, eyes closed, “Well, nevermind.” He let his eyes open, and even in this drugged up state, they shine brighter than half of the stars in the sky, “We’re ugly but we have the music.”

 

That was a line people would remember for years, and Ryan knew it as soon as it was spoken, sealing the space between them and kissing Brendon again and again, until they were fucking again, until it was everything again.

 

Now, it must be said, that though it's years later, Ryan still remembered Brendon well in that moment, how beautiful he was and everything that made him seem so. Brendon didn't captivate his whole world outside the hotel room, but in there he knew for sure that Brendon was all that mattered.

 

They were lovers, as Brendon had put it one night, voice brave and sweet. He could talk for hours and Ryan would listen, he could talk forever and Ryan wouldn't speak a single word to interrupt him. He was always saying something interesting or something new that made Ryan think.

 

He hadn't written songs about Brendon, and he doubted Brendon wrote songs about him, they just mutually agreed that they shouldn't make this much bigger than it really was. It was two people having fun in a hotel, that's all. Nothing more, and nothing less.

 

Yet here he was, thinking about Brendon. Lips against the other's, skin against skin and everything fit into place for just a moment. Ignoring how New York was living and awake, so that they could just lie in each other's arms and perhaps sleep for just a little while longer.

 

It was light one day, and Brendon had to be somewhere, the limousines down below us, but he was still there with Ryan. He wasn't wearing anything, and he was tangled in the sheets, just kissing Ryan awake, grinning when he finally woke, “Hey…” He mumbled, slowly kissing the other until he was fully awoken.

 

Ryan had groaned a little, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Brendon nodded, kissing down his chest, “Shouldn't you go?” He nodded again, shrugging as he kept kissing lower and lower, and Jesus Christ, _Brendon_.

 

Ryan had his hands tangled in Brendon's hair, who was giving him head on the unmade bed as his limousine waited in the street. He'd write about this someday. Someday when this was all over, he would write about this.

 

This was as close to love as either of them were going to get at the time, so they stuck with it, the mid sixties had nothing for them but each other. Brendon swore he wouldn't last to the seventies, Ryan swore he'd go with him. Neither of them were fully sincere.

 

He did know Brendon, late nights alone help you learn a lot about someone. He knew Brendon was terrified of being alone, he needed to be with someone always. He needed someone to care, men, women, whoever was close at the time worked for him.

 

Ryan asked him if that's why he was with him, and he shook his head, “No. You're not saying you care to make me feel better, you're actually caring about me. And I care about you.” It wasn't much of an explanation but it worked for the time and Ryan was willing to take it.

 

They were both running for the money and the flesh, they just did it together now. And Ryan knew Brendon had other lovers somewhere for when he wasn't here in New York, yet he was here in New York, he was here and he'd decided to be with Ryan. That said something.

 

Ryan didn't know if he was in love with Brendon. It wasn't an impossibility. Brendon was awfully pretty and kind, and everything Ryan wanted to be and everything he wanted have. But whenever he was asked, “Did you love him?” Ryan thought it was best not to answer.

 

Brendon came and went, but he always returned to Ryan's hotel room. Even after a week or so, he'd get a knock on the door, and a pair of lips against his as soon as the door opened. It was nice, having someone. It wasn't as if Ryan hadn't had anyone before, just not like this.

 

He'd never known to open his door to be greeted by a lover, ready to do everything possible before the sun were to rise. It was a nice concept, and he was happy it was Brendon. He was happy it was this man who he knew could do anything and anyone he pleased, but chose Ryan.

 

The sexuality aspect of it all never bothered either of them, and it was rarely brought up. It didn't matter when Ryan was inside Brendon, it didn't matter when he wasn't. Ryan had always felt a sexual stirring towards men anyway, and he wasn't sure about Brendon due to the lack of mention.

 

The nights always ended pleasantly. Brendon smoking out on the balcony in his underwear as Ryan watched from inside, he really was a thing of beauty. He could notice things then, things he didn't want to admit he was looking for.

 

One night, Ryan woke up at about four in the morning, Brendon was asleep, and as he glanced over at his sleeping form, he realised how beautiful Brendon looked. A soft light cast over his bare skin, as the sheets had fallen off his back, the light reflecting off his face, making him look younger.

 

Ryan wanted to kiss him, but lay there staring for a while. Memorising the way Brendon looked here, because he wanted it to be forever in his mind, how pretty he was, how mesmerising.

 

Ryan eventually went back the sleep, the soft glow of moonlight cast against both of their bodies, making them appear as more than they were for one night. Making them seem prettier and more significant. An almost picture perfect sight.

 

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Brendon got away.

 

It was all over the papers, Brendon Urie found dead in his motel room. He died of a heroine overdose. Maybe he wanted to fix himself one last time and went too fair. Maybe he did it on purpose. Ryan didn't want to think about it, really. He didn't want to think about his Brendon like that.

 

Ryan didn't really go to the hotel room after that, his sheets still smelt of Brendon and he didn't want that, yet he didn't want them washed as he didn't want to lost that last part of Brendon that he had left. The part of him that was still living.

 

Brendon had turned his back on the crowd, one last time, he took his final bow and left. He left Ryan. He left everyone. Without a single word of goodbye and Ryan, he couldn't take it. Take losing this.

 

He realised then, he never once got to go through everything he should have with Brendon's. The I needs you, the I don't need yous, the indecisiveness of every couple there was, the questioning of wanting to be together. Maybe he was okay with that, that he and Brendon never fell out or argued, he wanted more than what they had, though.

 

Ryan didn't forget, though he liked not to bring it up. He didn't want people to know what him and Brendon had, not at the time. He wanted it to be one last thing that was just between them.

 

Brendon was terrified of being alone, wasn't he? Yet, he died alone without another soul in sight in his hotel room. Ryan wished he was there to save him, he wished there was something he could've possibly done to save his Brendon, but he was in a different fucking state, and Brendon took fixing himself too far.

 

Ryan did move on though, of course he did. It was the seventies now, a new decade. Brendon always did say he'd never make it, Ryan always promised he'd follow. He couldn't keep his end of the promise and it made him sick to his stomach.

 

Eventually, one night he was alone in a restaurant, and this overwhelming presence came over him. This strong feeling of a young man, and everything eh represented. He grabbed a napkin and started to note words down, whatever came to his head, whatever he could think.

 

He never wrote about Brendon as things happened, but afterwards he needed to write about if at some point. It's just that on that day, in that restaurant, Brendon seemed to be the most there he ever had been since his death. It wasn't supernatural, just the memories becoming overwhelming.

 

He kept his career going, and wrote the song fully. He named it Chelsea Hotel, after the place it all happened. He didn't go back there often. He sometimes visited and found a few of Brendon's things. He sometimes broke down after that.

 

There were rumours for years about the song, until  it was finally confirmed it was about Brendon. It was years later, and Ryan didn't consider it a big deal. He was ready for people to know. He was ready for people to understand what happened between him and Brendon.

 

He ended his song by saying he didn't think of Brendon that often, apart from in the Hotel Chelsea. That may have been a lie, he didn't want to dishonour Brendon like that, as if he was the biggest infatuation of Ryan's life and that's all. Brendon needed something more than a line about head and ugliness.

 

He ended his song bitterly because he knew Brendon would have wanted it, somehow he did and that's how it eventually ended. With the original song scrapped and a second one out on the album, shorter with more information. He loved the song, he loved the memories.

 

He didn't want to think about loving Brendon because now it would hurt, now it would hurt to think of a twenty seven year old Brendon lying dead, and being in love with everything he once was. He didn't want to answer because he was scared of whatever the truth may be.

 

Eventually, after forty years of the song being out, and almost fifty since he first met Brendon, Ryan found himself on his deathbed, recalling everything and smiling. The November of 2016, he found himself remembering everything special about Brendon as he lay there. He didn't think his time would be so soon, but he was okay with it now.

 

Ryan had lost most of his dearest friends by now, so Brendon should seem insignificant, yet he never did. He was always at the back of Ryan's mind, and he was always going to remind him of working in song, and being in whatever was closest to love at the time.  He missed Brendon.

 

Ryan lay there, thinking about his life and mainly Brendon, and how beautiful he looked that one night under the moonlight. How perfect they both were. It was a nice thought, being young and possibly in love. Ryan liked that thought. He liked to think Brendon was someplace nice now, where he didn't need to fix himself anymore.

 

Ryan passed later that night.

 

It's just a thought that people have to feel better about themselves, but maybe, there's a chance that in some way Brendon's and Ryan ended up together. Two stars in the sky, or maybe they were just together in whatever heaven there was.

 

Though, it's been thought that Brendon and Ryan are still in that hotel room together, forever in their mid twenties and in whatever love would have been at the time. Brendon still had that gleam in his eyes, and Ryan is happy that Brendon no longer needs to fix himself.

  
They're together now, though. And that's what matters in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, nothing but respect to Janis Joplin and Leonard Cohen. Joplin's death needs to be acknowledged here as she was such an influential figure, and the way she died was indeed tragic. Not all of this is truly what happened, mainly going by what Leonard Cohen had said about it before he passed. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please comment if you enjoyed it.
> 
> EDIT: There were like twenty mistakes so I proof read it and fixed it.


End file.
